wires
My mom gave me some art she had colored from a book I had given her several years back. She told me how many hours it took her, she was proud of it and I saw a piece of paper faintly colored. It’s not that it wasn’t nice– it was a picture of a lizard that was colored with sparkles– it’s just, it felt infantile to me. But as so often with our relationship, I felt the inversion between parent-child, and I told her how great it was and that I was proud of her. It is great, and I am proud, but my heart sank.
I spent all day with her and at some point she had asked me something that she had asked a few hours earlier. She’s always had a thing of telling the same stories to the same people- something I’ve always thought was because she couldn’t remember which of her many friends she already talked to. But the question felt different. My heart sank further.
I’m halfway across the planet, having placed a tremendous amount of trust in her while at the same time I’m starting to think I need to be concerned.
Perhaps I’m thinking about this too much, my mom has always had a childlike innocence and interests in things-a result, I think, of her broken and abusive marriage. What else is supposed to happen after decades of mental abuse? Of being told you’re not perfect enough? I think she receded into her own mind and stayed where it was safe, and in the years since has never tried to push herself beyond what’s comfortable.
I don’t blame her for any of this, but I can see how and why she is the way she is.
Similarly, I asked her to remember a lot of information all at once, so a repeated question is not all that concerning by itself. I think what got me was just thinking about the finite nature of it all.
I’m still not sure if I need to be concerned, but someday I’ll need to be if not already.
It is clear that someday I’ll be responsible for what happens to her. I know her dream and her wishes. I hope I don’t have to respect her wishes before she fulfills her dream.
Written: 2025-09-15/16, Published: 2025-10-05 /w minor edit